


Ways in which to work out parenthood.

by kingollie



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Lucas is awkward but means well, Pre-Canon, Trying to self teach yourself to parent, we all love olivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-07-10 09:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingollie/pseuds/kingollie
Summary: "That's all anyone knows about him: he was in Sierra Leone, 2002."Or how Lucas Grey met and looked after a child that he wasn't expecting after being involved in "backwater tragedies"





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This took me an obscenely long time to get a single chapter down, don't ask.
> 
> I kept Olivia's origins fairly vague as I imagine they may be expanded on in game. And whether she's a child solider, prisoner or merely one of many orphans is up to you to interpret - 
> 
> Either way, if you know anything about the civil war in Sierra Leone then you probably know how awful it was on children in particular. Every one; from child soldiers to prisoners were pumped full of drugs too - so there's a very brief mention of it.

1: meeting.

“Hello there,” Before him, the girl who the other soldiers had yanked from the room with her male counterparts, glowered - her brows were puckered into a single point. Fingers furled into fists by her sides, eyes blown wide and dilated pupils unwavering as she stared, still trembling, back at him. Teeth gritted and grating. Eyes holding his firm, although she looked more than a slight vacant behind the milk-glazed white that overcast them. Lucas never thought he'd see the physical effects of drugs in someone so young; only seven apparently. He swallowed, thinking vaguely of the institute, which merely exacerbated the feeling of illness. 

Not that it was any fault of the girl's part - she evidently had little autonomy of her own. Where she stood, straight-backed and terse, she shifted, fingers curling about the folds of her clothing - clasping the muted green fabric and squeezing it within her small palms. On occasion her teeth flashed warily, lips twitching and rife with unrestrained adrenaline (or the last inkling of cocaine, Lucas supposed). 

Shifting on his makeshift cot, Lucas gestured tentatively to the other one at the other side of the tent. “That's for you.” Lowering his voice to a minimal rumble, he nodded his head briefly, baring his teeth in a smile. She stared back, frowning at him as he spoke, as though he were instead about to harm her, and coupled with the tremour to her lips, it was more obvious that the scenario was unfamiliar to her. She wasn't used to pleasantries. Or in this context she wasn't. He winced.

“It's just for you to sleep on.” A single finger extended and jabbed behind her to gesture over at the bed. She angled herself a slight, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. “I won't bother you, I'm just here to guard you. The army are busy with your friends.” Again, the girl turned back to squint at him, dark eyes cast notably askew, unwilling to meet his own. He let an exasperated exhale roll from his lungs, she physically winced. Ouch. 

Finally, he turned from her, hunkering down and beginning to root through his bags in search of a bottle of water - anything to alleviate the peculiar mounting tension, he didn't like it. Her gaze followed his hands. “Do you have a name?” Lucas cocked his head, but remained intently fixated on the depths of his rucksack, rummaging with calloused fingertips and pushing past the folds of camouflage cloth and khakis, the extra ammunition and sheathed knives. He'd hide those; as much as this was a child, she had been taught (forced, rather) to attack the opposition. Which he was on. That particular thought caused a bubble of discomfort to rise in his throat: too close to home. With a grunt, he swallowed it down. She seemed too perturbed by her situation to be a threat, especially on her own.

“Mmm.” From behind him came a high pitched hum of acknowledgment, and the mercenary had to consciously ignore the desire to turn and blink at the sound. Instead he nodded his head, casting a calculated look to her shadow, watching as the scrawny figure shifted from one foot to the other, and back again, fidgeting with the front of her t-shirt by way of distraction.

“Oh?” He smiled awkwardly. “What is it then?” At this the girl murmured something incomprehensible, winding her arms about her middle. “I didn't catch that.”

“-’liv-ya” She finally glanced upwards at him, still shuffling. 

“Livia?”

“Oh-livia. Olivia.” At her words Lucas nodded and drew away from his belongings, lukewarm water bottle in hand. Olivia took two very pronounced steps backwards, head lowered and eyes flicking over the bags, frowning. 

“Olivia.” The man bowed his head slightly and she trembled again. “My name is Lucas.” Carefully he extended the bottle towards her, slow in his movements. He'd seen the soldiers end up on the receiving end of tooth and nail upon interaction and didn't wish to risk it, the poor kids could hardly tell threat from assistance in their situation, especially given how they had been removed from their hiding spots. Lucas had latched onto this same feeble girl's arm and pulled her clear of the undergrowth, despite the struggle she made - still rife with adrenaline and terror. She had been the smallest of the children, and so quite easily the youngest too. Barely seven from what he had estimated. Again, the sickness. Who the fuck put a seven year old on the battlefield? 

If he could grant Ort-Meyer any leniency, it would be that. The bullets and collateral only became commonplace in his teenage years.

Instead of lunging or making a desperate bid to escape (he'd seen that as well) Olivia simply grasp the bottle in both hands and drew it in to her chest. “It's just water. Do you want something to eat?”

She scoured his face for malice and then decided it was safe, nodded her head quickly, curls of haphazardly cut hair bouncing as she did so. When she figured that he had finished addressing her, the girl fiddled with the bottle cap, twisting it rapidly with thumb and forefinger before it popped off, and she could guzzle down some ungraceful mouthfuls of water, rivulets of it rolling down her chin as she did so. Lucas wandered to a low table on the far side of his tent, littered slightly with metal tins which contained dehydrated food (snagged from the army; they couldn't exactly refuse his want for sustenance).

“What do you want?” Holding up two tins, he offered them to the girl. She frowned and scanned each with sharp eyes - Lucas figured that she could read at least. She could speak English too, well enough to comprehend him, although she was probably more used to Krio, given how the others had communicated. Eventually, she jabbed at one with her forefinger, then drew back with a muted “please”. Lucas nodded and moved to his portable stove, hunkering down beside it. As he fiddled with the tin lid, he saw the girl frown - casting a glance to the opening of his tent and then back to the food he was attempting to pry from it's cheap metal container. 

With gradual, suspicious movements, Olivia slunk her way to his side, still standing a good foot or so from him, but observing nonetheless. She was squinting with inquisitive eyes. Lucas pretended to be unaware, he figured he would've liked to feel as though his curiosity wouldn't be scrutinised when he was younger. After a moment she piped up.

“Why... uhm.. does is look like that?” Though accented slightly, lisping notably and wavering with nerves, her English was perfectly well spoken. Lucas flicked on the gas, and a flame beneath the tin sprung to life. He held out his palm beside him and waited for Olivia to place the bottle back into it. Eventually she did so. 

“It's just compact and dehydrated for transportation, it'll taste just fine, I promise you.” Again, she furrowed her brows. Awkwardly, the man flicked his gaze about the tent. “Why not sit? As it cooks.” Vaguely, he gestured at the well kept little bed, it was obscenely neat by his own hands and the folds nonexistent. He supposed it did look a little stiff, perhaps that's why the girl's expression remained so perturbed. Although, at his suggestion, Olivia shifted before nodding slowly and picking her way over to the furniture, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she approached. Giving him one more sideways glance, she hopped up onto the flat surface and tucked both legs to her chest.

Chin to her knees, she watched him pour water into and prod at the food, occasionally she glanced to the door evidently aware of the inkling of activities from the soldiers who had set up their own camp directly beside them. On occasion a shout or bellow would erupt from the other gathered children as they fought tooth and nail to “free” themselves and return to their original captors. Olivia didn't seem to be prepared to mimic this (at least without the guise of confidence that groups provided) and instead listened, with head inclined to better pick up anything occurring outside. 

At one point, a gunshot rang out - splitting through the almost domestic noises of the crackling fire and hum of bugs. Both of them turned to the source, Olivia drawing in further, until both of her dark, owl-wide eyes were barely visible between her knees; each welling a slight with tears. She was truly frightened. Alone.

Lucas swallowed tightly, uncertain as to how to combat this development, for as much as he had the sensation gnawing at him to help in some manner, he didn't know how to do so. This child was still a stranger to him and pushing the boundaries now would be detrimental; he could still recall his own immediate distrust of any amicable figures during his early years of freedom. So instead he poked the food a little more until it looked as edible as it ever would.

Picking up the tin carefully, between thumb and forefinger and ignoring the painful heat that still clung to the metal; Lucas crossed the room to where Olivia sat, wrapped in on herself. Her eyes flew to his, and stared for a moment before they flitted down to the food. The mercenary hunkered down upon his haunches and proffered the food, alongside an intricately decorated little fork that he had stolen while a teenager in Romania. After a moment, she reached forth hastily and took both in her tiny hands. Lucas stood and moved back to the stove. 

“Be careful,” he added, “It's hot.” Olivia couldn't grace him with a response, for she was already wolfing down mouthfuls regardless.

Lucas smiled.


	2. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adapting to a world you don't understand is difficult sometimes. Also if children don't want to sleep they just won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took to long and I haven't proof read the latter half yet, but hopefully there are no horrendous errors.

It was a multitude of months before Olivia seemed to adapt to a more typically domestic atmosphere; for the first few were spent with Lucas prying her from hiding spots in the rain sodden back garden whenever night began to fall (receiving a damn vitriolic struggle whenever he did so), or alternatively, scrabbling after her when she decided that the roof was a preferable place to sleep upon - higher vantage point and all, it probably seemed safer to her. Of course, each time he tried to remove her and succeeded, he was met with a very prominent scowl (it was permanently plastered to her face, by that point). He knew, given how she had been raised and treated her whole childhood up to this point, that succumbing to the mundane of western domestic life was more than a challenge.

He remembered vaguely still, how he had felt upon his first venture from the Asylum, the way that everything towered over him and cast peculiar shadows upon his face, the movements of strangers in the distance. Still on edge from all he had dealt with previously everything about him could have been a potential threat, the institute lurking and stalking at every turn. Even now, he could feel the weight of all those initial sleepless nights, the sheer scale of the world that encompassed him. Lucas was capable with empathising with such feelings, as it seemed that adapting was also the hardship Olivia had too.

At least she had someone who had her best interests in mind, he figured. Even if currently she didn't view his interference as such, as evidenced by how she blatantly made attempts to ignore him during the mornings, after he tugged her away from the cubby holes she created the night before. Until boredom and hunger began to chew away at her defences and she was forced to retreat back to him. Whether it to be to scoff down some mouthfuls of cereal, staring at him with her sharp eyes over the top of the bowl. Or to inevitably end up sat on the top of some slide surveying the surroundings of a near-empty park; at this point Olivia tended to avoid contact with other children. Lucas didn't blame her for that, they were often loud, slobbering, clingy things, and Olivia had never been keen on touch. 

Even though she didn't act typically appreciative at his attempts at fostering her, the man had begun to note improvements to her behaviour. (Not that she was badly behaved or malicious in any sense, just uncertain about her drastically altered life). 

She no longer spoke to him in one or two word sentences when she was forced to, and there was no more a stuttering to her speech. Nowadays she would comfortably sit in the same room as him and watch TV with her chin upon the coffee table - no cartoons, Olivia hated them with a bewildering passion and disappeared into her room whenever they were on, and oddly enough far preferred spy films. Was it appropriate to show an eight year old Bond? Probably not, but the moment it came on, she would settle on the sofa beside him and relax for however long the cheesy action prevailed. 

Lucas made certain to avoid any spy films which involved some gritty foreign conflict. It was harder than he would've guessed.

On good days, Lucas could take her out to restaurants and even though initially she would be unnerved, and could never be convinced into talking to the waiting staff. Nonetheless she would sit and wolf down whatever she had picked with vigour, which was always comforting. On occasion someone would compliment them, and he'd bow his head awkwardly. Olivia tended to ignore the comments, unless they gestured at her. Then she'd confront him with:

“Why did she point at me?”

“She was just saying you looked well, for your age is all.” He'd respond, and she'd continue to stare after the person, head inclined.

He felt as though he were doing something correctly. Raising a child had never been what he was intended for.

Evidently, given his childhood. 

‘Your gift and you curse; touching lives only by ending them’ Ort-Meyer’s sentiment bubbled to the forefront of his mind one particular evening, while he was reclined on the couch after a day of errands, watching Olivia lazily as she scribbled messy doodles of animals upon paper she'd hiked over to the coffee table alongside a carton of juice. His lips pursed in a long flat line, as the girl began to scrawl janky ears on the blob on the left side of the page, her brows furrowed to a determined point. She seemed to sense the other staring and threw a glance towards him. 

“It's a cat.” One finger came to jab at the amorphous feline. And when Lucas leant closer to inspect it he could see that the circle adjacent to the body had eyes and little trailing whiskers. 

“Well, she's very cute.” The man nodded his head approvingly, Olivia mimicked the movements. 

“Yuh-huh.” 

“Does she have a name, then?” Tipping her head, the question was considered for a moment. 

“Em.”

“Like.. Emily?”

“No. The letter ‘M’.” Olivia puffed out her cheeks and hummed a drawling rendition of the letter. “Like. Mmmmmm.” Lucas chuckled slightly.

“Ah, you've been watching too much Bond. I really shouldn't be letting you see so much of that.” At his words, she sunk onto the table, plastering a cheek to the wood besides her drawing.

“It's fun though.” Lucas shook his head and scooped an empty beer can from the table, standing from the divet he'd created in the couch. Olivia followed his movements with an even gaze. He merely wandered to the kitchen and tossed the can into the bin with a clatter. He stared at the open bin for a brief moment. Then turned again to see the girl hovering at the door frame, having followed him, sipping down the last of her own drink. Lucas checked his watch. 8pm. Great, this was when the bedtime extravaganza usually began. Olivia lobbed her cartoon to the trash too, with fair less grace and more sprays of juice, but it landed nonetheless. 

Raising a hand to his mouth, Lucas yawned into his cupped palm. “You're tired?” He heard the girl mumble, she was frowning and the expression behind her eyes was shifting between a small collection of feelings. Considering. 

“I had a long day working between jobs,” he crossed the room to her, herding her out of the kitchen with an outstretched arm, “but you don't need to worry about that. Hm?”

She nodded slowly, but didn't look convinced of his statement. “Here, I'll pick these up,” he pointed to the paper strewn on the table, “and you brush your teeth.” Olivia bunched her brows, tensed slightly. Lucas subtly angled himself so he was face the ajar window in the room - a usual ‘escape’ point. The moment seemed to drag on. And then.

“And put on pajamas?” To say the answer was unexpected would have been an understatement. It was short. But a new inkling of relief crept into Lucas’s chest. He played it cool.

“Please do.” He only relaxed when Olivia disappeared into the corridor and the bathroom light flicked on audibly. As he crouched to gather the paper into a neat stack, pencils collected on the side, he could hear the water running. Seemingly, and for the first time conceivably ever, she was doing exactly as he wished at night. Against all her preconceived notions and things she had been ‘taught’ - against what she deemed to be her better judgement, and despite her deeply ingrained fears she was listening to him. He heaved a sigh, trying to smother the smile that was crawling upon his features. 

The tap flicked off abruptly, as did the light and the girl padded softly from the bathroom and into the room directly opposite. Hers. That was good. This is good, Lucas decided. He grazed his fingers into his cropped hair, waited a few seconds as his nails raked at his scalp lightly, and walked over to her door. Knocked, then entered. 

Olivia lay, cocooned in a duvet and a multitude of blankets, which were being drawn up to obscure the lower part of her face. Her eyes were trained on the doorway and although she froze momentarily when he entered, as soon as she registered him, her lazy attempts to adjust the blankets continued. She huffed in frustration as her wrangling did little to settle the swathe evenly. 

“Do you want me to do that?” Lucas stepped closer, she frowned but nodded anyway. He crossed over to her bed, tugging the corner of the sheets so they aligned with the mattress. Pseudo-tucking her in, he was not going to push his luck currently. Seemingly content, the girl snuggled deeper into her hoarding of soft fabrics. “Goodnight, Olivia.” He yawned, a second passed, then she yawned too.

“Night.” She murmured. Lucas smiled, leaving the room with the door partly ajar; not wishing to induce any claustrophobia. 

Throwing himself back onto the sofa once more, he shifted with a huff. “Touching lives by ending them, my ass.” He grunted to himself. If only Ort-Meyer could see him now, how disappointed he'd be. 

Good, he thought and then promptly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who babysat occasionally, kids are hard to get to go to sleep when they're determined not to and it scares me.

**Author's Note:**

> I have more of these, they are just half written right now. I apologise for any grammatical errors in advance, I shall fix them if I see them.


End file.
